


What We Carry With Us

by DarkestSight (Daylight)



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/DarkestSight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five stories concerning the advantages and disadvantages of traveling with family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ori, Dori, and Nori

“Do you want your mittens?”

Ori looked up from his writing to see his oldest brother, Dori, waving a pair of beige knitted mittens at him.

“No, thank you,” he said turning back to his work. 

He wasn’t too fond of those mittens. They were too large and too bulky and made his fingers itch. In fact, he recalled deliberately leaving them behind when they’d left the Blue Mountains, but it seemed Dori had helpfully packed them for him.

Dipping his pen into his inkpot perched on a nearby rock and shaking off the excess ink, Ori once more put pen to paper. He was using the time the others were spending packing up the camp to update the chronicle he was keeping about their adventures. He was keeping a meticulous and precise record of everything that happened during their journey. Nothing much had actually happened so far, but he was keeping a meticulous and precise record of it.

“What about your scarf?” asked Dori. “Do you want your scarf?” 

“No.”

The scarf wasn’t any better than the mittens, twice as long as it needed to be and equally itchy. He had once considered tying it to the top of a tree and leaving it there, but he had a feeling Dori would still somehow manage to retrieve it and bring it back to him.

“Maybe you should keep them with you just in case. It might get colder later, and there won’t be time to stop and unpack them while we’re riding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Ori let out a long exasperated sigh. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“You know how susceptible you are to the cold. We don’t want you getting sick.”

“I’m not going to get sick.”

He was well aware of how susceptible to the cold he was. He was always getting sick as a child. Dori used to blame it, and Ori’s slight, somewhat undwarfish physique, on the fact there hadn’t been much food at hand when he was a baby. Ori had never minded. He thought he had a perfectly good constitution for the sort of pursuits he was interested in as a scribe and a scholar. Of course, now they were out here in the wilderness ridding off into danger as they tried to show their loyalty to their king by helping him take back their homeland, and his overly protective older brother, who had nursed him through many an illness, seemed convinced that even breathing in the fresh air would bring a pox upon him.

For a couple of minutes, there was silence. Ori was able to continue writing, pen scratching against parchment with the belief the subject had been dropped, but then Dori spoke again.

“How about putting on your winter sweater? I know how much you like it. That should help keep you warm.”

“I said no,” Ori snapped petulantly. He did, in fact, really like that sweater. It was soft and cozy and warm, and he wouldn’t have minded putting it on, but he was tired of Dori badgering him.

“Fine,” Dori replied scowling. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ll leave you to freeze your little nose off. Just don’t come complaining to me when it does.”

Dori stomped away and Ori gazed down at his book. He hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d been doing and a black blob of ink now marred the page he’d been working on. A familiar pair of boots entering his periphery vision made him look back up.

Nori stood there with a wide grin on his face. “How ‘bout a nice wooly blanket? That’ll help keep you toasty warm. We can swaddle you up just like a little dwarfling baby.”

Ori put away his pen, put the top back on his ink bottle, and closed his book, and then he took the large tome and swung it at his brother.

Nori dodged out of the way and left laughing.

Ori took a moment to scowl at his brother’s retreating back; then he packed the rest of his things and joined the others.

It was another dull, quiet day for the thirteen dwarfs plus one hobbit and one wizard riding towards the Lonely Mountain. Except for a minor drama where Kíli managed to accidentally knock Fíli off his pony, nothing actually happened. There were no discoveries, no attacks, no disasters. Stories and jokes were told and retold until they grew sick of each other’s voices. 

It became quite warm around midday and Ori felt vindicated in his refusal to take any of Dori proffered garments, but in the afternoon, the sun disappeared behind the clouds and a wicked wind began to whip up around them, an icy wind which seemed to have come right off the tops of the Misty Mountains. The dwarfs raised their hoods and huddled down on their ponies as it grew colder.

Ori’s cloak kept most of the wind off him. Between it, his cardigan, and the rest of his clothing, he wasn’t too chilled though he couldn’t really say he was warm. The only real problem was his hands. He stared down at his little white fingers peaking out of the sleeves of his cloak as he gripped tightly to the reins. It might be his imagination, but they seemed to be turning blue.

His hands were freezing. He tried to pull them further up into his cloak but all he succeeded in doing was jerking the reins which caused his pony to take a couple of faltering steps and whinny in confusion.

“Sorry, Pumpkin,” Ori whispered to the pony.

His fingers were quickly becoming numb until he could barely feel the reins anymore. Looking up ahead, he saw Thorin ridding at the head of the line sitting straight and tall seemingly unaffected by the cold wind. Ori wondered what their great king would say if he asked him to stop just so he could fetch his mittens from the packs. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure what pack they were in or even on which pony. Dori had put them away for him. Ori opened his mouth to call for a halt and then quickly changed his mind. It would be much too embarrassing. Besides he was already very low in terms of assets to this group and didn’t want to become more of a burden. He planned to dive into battle without any hesitation just like the rest of them, but though he could probably out shoot any of the other dwarfs with his slingshot, he didn’t have the battle training or experience the others did.

Just as he was resigning himself to the inevitability of frostbite, Nori brought his pony up beside his.

“Hey, Ori,” he whispered leaning towards him.

Ori gazed at him feeling somewhat suspicious. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brother. He trusted Nori to have his back through thick and thin, but Nori was also known to tease and play a prank or two, and then there was all the less than legal activities he seemed to get involved in.

“Here,” Nori said quickly handing something across the gap between their ponies.

Ori’s numb, fumbling fingers almost dropped it. Gazing down at the small bundle he now held, he found himself looking at his beige mittens. He stared at Nori in surprise.

Nori just smiled at him, a knowing twinkle in his eyes, and then without saying anything, rode back to his place in the line of ponies.

Not wasting time wondering how his brother had known what he needed, Ori quickly put the mittens on. It took a while for his fingers to warm up and they itched and ached as they did so, but Ori didn’t care. He was just glad to be able to feel them again.

Eventually, they stopped for the night, somewhere thankfully sheltered from the cold wind, and began to set up camp. If Dori noticed that Ori was wearing his mittens, he didn’t say anything, but Ori saw him pat Nori on the back and give him a grateful smile before the three of them settled down to sleep.


	2. Balin and Dwalin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All names of places and landmarks not found on Tolkien's map are made up by me.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, brother?” Dwalin asked pointedly.

“And what exactly do you mean by that, brother?” Balin asked just as pointedly.

The two of them were walking at the head of the long line of dwarfs, plus one hobbit, that made up Thorin’s company as they led them through the wilds between Rivendell and the high pass through the Misty Mountains. 

“What I mean,” said the younger of the two brothers, “is that you seem to be going the wrong way.”

Balin gazed across the landscape before them, the rolling hillsides, the lines of trees, the snow covered mountains looming above. “Ah, well. There you must be mistaken for I know exactly where I’m going.”

Dwalin shook his head. “If you knew where you were going, you’d know that we are heading too far north.”

“And if you knew this area as well as I do, you’d know that we have to travel this far north to avoid a large ravine that lies directly in our path.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know this area just as well as you.” 

“Is that so? Yet, you seem to have forgotten that I am the one with the brains in this family.”

“You certainly did not get the looks,” said Dwalin.

“Nor you,” retorted Balin.

Dwalin scowled. “That does not change the fact I know the wilds as well as you, perhaps better.”

“Aye, but it was Thorin himself who put me in charge of finding our way.”

“And I would not dare question his decision, but mayhaps he hasn’t been made aware of the recent frailty of your memory. As I recall that ravine you mentioned lies further south.”

“In your mind maybe.”

Dwalin pointed to a dried creek bed just visible in the distance. “We should head along the south side of the Dead Stream past the Many-Limbed Yew Tree, turn north east when we get to the boulder shaped like Durin’s toe, and then head towards the Double-Peaked Mountain.”

It was Balin’s turn to shake his head. “My memory is obviously a lot sharper than yours. If we go that way, we’ll have to make a wide circle around Silver Lake.”

“Would you rather travel through the Tangled Forest? That way would take us twice as long.”

“Which is why I’m taking us up north, passed the Apple Woods, under the Long Drop Waterfall, and onto the rocky plains, and then we’ll head for the Double-Peaked Mountain.”

Dwalin snorted. “You clearly spent too much time tasting that elvish wine. If we go further north our way will be blocked by a cliff that is impossible to climb.”

Balin frowned. “Which cliff? The sandy one just before the twist in the Loudwater River?”

“No, the one made of large boulders just before the rocky plains.”

“Your mind must be becoming addled in your old age. That cliff is nowhere near us. We’d have to travel much further north to reach it.”

“We are that far north. We have already passed the hill where we fought the battle of the one hundred and eleven orcs.” 

“Nonsense. That hill is over there,” said Balin pointing northward.

Shading his eyes, Dwalin attempted to follow the pointing finger. “Where?”

“There,” Balin exclaimed waving the finger emphatically. “The large hill with the rocky top and the tall trees around its base.”

“Your eyesight is clearly going along with your mind. That’s the wrong hill. It’s that one back there.” Dwalin pointed to a similar hill south of them.

“Are you sure?” said Balin with a frown.

“I had to carry your sorry hide up that hill. It’s not a place I’m likely to forget.”

“You had to carry him up that hill?” spoke another voice. “Why’s that?”

Both Balin and Dwalin stopped. Turning around, they found an inquisitive looking hobbit had been listening in to their conversation. 

“Sorry,” said Bilbo blushing slightly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s just you were talking very loudly, and frankly, there’s not much to do out here and I was getting bored just staring at the scenery so… Why did you have to carry Balin up that hill?”

The brothers gazed at each other for a moment and came to a silent consensus.

“Have you ever heard of the battle of the one hundred and eleven orcs?” Dwalin asked throwing an arm over Bilbo’s shoulder as they began walking once more.

Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s a famous battle amongst our people,” explained Balin. “Both us took part in it.”

“There were only ten of us against one hundred and eleven orcs,” said Dwalin.

Frowning, Bilbo said, “Exactly one hundred and eleven?”

The brothers nodded.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course,” Dwalin said. “We counted the bodies afterwards.”

“You counted…” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Nevermind. Please, continue.”

“We were a scouting party,” continued Balin. “Sent over the Misty Mountains to clear the way for the rest of our people, one of many journeys that were taken before we found our new home in the Blue Mountains.” 

“We encountered a few orcs while in the Misty Mountains but we dispatched them easily enough,” said Dwalin.

“Aye,” agreed Balin. “But what we didn’t know was some of those orcs were scouts from a larger pack. Some of them must have gotten away and alerted the rest.”

“They ambushed us just over there,” Dwalin said pointing to a small clearing.

“Really?” questioned Balin. “I thought it was over there.” He pointed to another clearing somewhat further north.

Dwalin waved a hand. “It matters not. What matters was that we were outnumbered. We knew we needed to find some sort of advantage or we would lose the battle.”

“Which is why we sought higher ground,” Balin said, and then sighed. “Unfortunately, I received a bad wound to my leg before we could reach it.”

Dwalin slapped his brother on the back. “He received it valiantly defending one of our brethren.”

Smiling, Balin shrugged modestly. “I could barely walk on the leg let alone run up a hill so I told the others to leave me behind, but Dwalin would have none of that.”

“Aye. T’would have been a noble sacrifice, but I had no intention of leaving my brother behind.”

“He slung me over his shoulder and carried me all the way up the hill fighting back orcs as he did so. I have rarely seen such a heroic deed.”

“You would have done the same for me,” said Dwalin clasping his brother’s forearm.

Balin wrapped both hands around Dwalin’s. “That I would.”

“So, you reached the top of the hill and fought off all one hundred and eleven orcs,” Bilbo said prompting them to continue.

“Aye,” said Balin letting go of his brother’s arm. “We stood back to back and took down all who came near.”

“The battle raged for hours,” said Dwalin. “But in the end they were all dead, all one hundred and eleven, and we survived.”

“Wow,” said Bilbo. “That was some feat.”

Balin shrugged. “We’ve been through worse battles.”

Dwalin nodded, his eyes distant. “That we have.”

Bilbo pointed to the hill to the north of them. “And it took place on that hill over there.” 

“No. No. That hill over there,” Dwalin corrected pointing to the hill to the south.

“Actually,” said Balin. “I believe I was right the first time. Look at the rocks on the top of that one.” He gestured to the southern hill. “They’re completely the wrong shape. They should be much flatter.”

“Your head’s the wrong shape.”

“Have you looked in a mirror, brother? I’m not the one with the oddly shaped head.”

“And I am not the one with the bad eyesight, brother. That is clearly the right hill.”

“’Tis not!”

“’Tis to!”

The hobbit fell back leaving the two elder dwarfs to bicker in peace as they continued to lead the way through the wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing the dialogue for this. Hopefully, I didn't get too carried away. Next Chapter: Bifur, Bofur and Bombur


End file.
